Horses Made of Sticks
by CILLI
Summary: Two months of almost desperate longing, that was nothing compared to the years of pining he'd suffered over Lydia.
1. I Called Him Mine

Two months of almost desperate longing, that was nothing compared to the years of pining he'd suffered over Lydia. The time was almost laughable, a blip in the span of time he had spent suffering his thoughts for someone who didn't want him back. Yet two months seemed like a lifetime now, they made each day feel like a year as it passed slowly before him, then left in the time of a breath.

Time lapsed so strangely now, especially the moments in which nothing happened, when he was alone or at school, or dealing with some other soft of disaster. Seconds ticked by a dozen at a time, leaving his head spinning, silently crying, begging them to stop. Other times they dragged on forever, pulling at his heart and making it impossible to concentrate, wishing thrice between each tock for it to speed up and give him freedom from its throng.

Nothing seemed to work, time was an expedient form of torture designed to leave the teenager in a perpetual state of unrest. It had existed long before him and would continue on as if he never existed when he was gone, leaving him powerless against its clutches.

His thoughts were demons too, working against him in the worst of ways, making it impossible to know reality from imagination, creeping up on him when it was most inconvenient. Like math class, rendering him immobile for the better part of the period, only to captivate him in his seat the moment the bell rang. No book was large enough to hide his thoughts, nor a teacher kind enough to leave him sit, camouflaging his embarrassment with aid of his desk.

Thankfully Scott had rescued him, spoken up and offered to step in for him; which locked the two of them into an argument with the teacher long enough to distract his thoughts and calm the engorged humiliation suffocated within his jeans. But his friend would not always be there to save him, not in school or in life, and in this he was alone, unable to speak to anyone about the romance that had rekindled the dying embers left within his heart.

After Lydia had chosen Jackson, admitting to her love, he saw it there before him, the chance he'd never have, brandished like a sign encrusted with diamonds and framed in neon light. _'I will never love you.' _It was all he needed to know, all it took to break his heart. And though it laid there, shattered at his feet as he watched the two of hem kiss, he proceeded to hold hope.

Fools hope won some battles but lost wars, that was how it worked. And there he'd sat, wasting away, the fires within his heart slowly dying. He had lost the war.

But the fires were no longer out, the last ember had sparked a new log tossed into the ashes. Hope still remained, despite the blow he'd been given, despite the desperation ever creeping in on him, like suffocating, drowning slowly. A life raft remained afloat beside him, and though he would have liked to say it had been Scott to throw it to him, his best friend there to rescue him, they were brothers and in matters of the heart something else was required.

As unlikely as it had seemed, as unlikely -if not more- than he and Lydia, was who had rescued his heart from complete and utter devastation. It had begun as tension, nothing more than heads constantly on track to butt with one another, and yet, underneath it all, they had always shared an understanding. It was that understanding which drove them together, to defend and protect each other in the most unexpected of times.

Perhaps it was more than a mere two months, maybe it had begun long before then, something ignored by the both of them. However long it had been, it felt like forever now, and the feeling of time weighing on him would not relent.

Today would be different, it would give him peace, yet the seconds ticked on like hours, taunting him as he watched the clock in desperation. So close to freedom, yet so far. Stiles stared up from his textbook as the rest of the class read, eyeing the second hand as it passed ever slowly by the eight, as if gravity were cheating him of the bell ring.

"Faster!" he mouthed, feeling his canines dig into the soft tissue of his lip.

It felt like an eternity, but the minute finally passed, the second hand hesitating with its ever annoying half tock back before the tick and the bell, and he was out of the door before anyone else.

Scott ran behind him, trying to catch up, but there was no time for deterrents; he had a clear straightaway to his jeep and he was taking it. Aware the moment he sat down behind the wheel that he had forgotten his bag, Stiles rolled his eyes toward his friend's direction, looking at him as Derek often did himself, like he would tear out his throat. But there, in the boy's hands, was his bag, which held his keys since gym class.

"What's the hurry?" Scott huffed in a cheery fluster.

"No hurry!" Unable to avoid the small crack in his pubescent voice, Stiles lied, trying to avert any further delay.

"You forgot your bag," the wolf chimed, hoisting the thing through the passenger side window, and lowered it onto the seat.

Reaching over with no more than an idle thanks, the boy rummaged through the pocket for his keys, shaking them as he thrust them into the ignition.

"You sure you're okay?"

Would this torture not cease? "Yup. Just really looking forward to that ten page paper due Monday." Rolling his head over to shoot his friend a dismissive look, he watched as Scott backed away, stealing a step back onto the curb with a sigh. He was being short, lying, and pushing him away again. "I'm just having one of those days, sorry."

"It's cool. I was gonna ask for a ride but… Maybe I'll catch you tomorrow. We can work on that paper together, get it knocked out in one shot."

"Yeah, maybe," he replied, putting the car into reverse as the engine purred like a dying cat. Their gazes broke as Stiles pulled away, kicking himself mentally for the way he'd behaved.

It was difficult not to though, not when his better judgment told him not to rub this love in his heartbroken friend's face; not when it was already complicated enough as it was. Two months of it and he had never once told a soul about it, not a single peep, and for no other reason than everyone else. So he pushed those he cared about away, held them at arm's reach, until he knew more of what this was, of what he had been doing, what he'd become.

No, he wasn't a werewolf, he hadn't changed, not deep down. Still the Stiles everyone knew and… tolerated, he was fundamentally the same. But something had transformed him, altered a part of who he'd thought he was, and made him whole.

Definitions were always so shaky, so resolute, so definitive, which Stiles had often seen so black and white. Life was never so stark and regimented though, and he could not deny that what engulfed him now was a cloud of gray, so thick like soup he could hardly move. So he remained, exploring it, trying to understand what all of it meant, as promptly as he could, in hopes one day he would tell everyone.

For now, it was best left alone, left to their private exploration, which was where he headed now. Through the woods, veering from the streets of town, to the burnt shanty the Alpha dwelled. The charred timbers and broken windows, the dungeon full of cells and shackles; it was home, it always would be, which the boy understood now. Derek would never leave, he'd found it impossible to stay away, and nothing about that confused the human any longer, it made sense.

The moment he stepped out of his jeep, Stiles looked to the house and saw Derek waiting there for him, hands wringing around a dirty rag, muscles glistening with sweat. How that image stunned him now did all but surprise, since he'd always stood in awe of the man's form. Only now, now it held an allure that haunted his thoughts, aroused in him daydreams, and left his sheets sticky and cold in the morning.

They shared a glance before the Alpha took a step forward, inviting the boy to come to him. Walking the short distance from where he'd parked, Stiles climbed the steps onto the porch, and stood before the werewolf, breath already catching in his chest.

"You got here fast."

"Yeah, I think I broke a couple speed limits by the time I got out of the parking lot."

"I take it you missed me."

Most redundant statement in the world, but Stiles managed to still nod.

"You ready?"

Again, the boy nodded, agreeing with the rhetorical question, eagerly.

They'd promised they'd wait, they'd take their time. Heavy petting, kissing, an exploration of each others bodies and their limits. Neither of them had, had such an encounter, Stiles even more so, since he'd had no encounters at all, wither with the same or opposite sex. Their genders posed an interesting experience, but their love evolved past the awkward curiosity and inexperience. They'd moved past his premature releases and from Derek's urge to bite him when lost in the grip of passion. But there was still a level they hadn't explored, one they had agreed to wait for.

As awkward as the conversation had been, no conversation in which Stiles made suggestions or spoke about sex, could ever _not_ be awkward. Yet the Alpha, with his grace of withholding words, choosing only the best and simplest ones to use when he felt best, countered the boys rambling and exasperation.

They picked a random date, one on which they would finally explore the last level of this, whatever it was. Whatever happened, however they felt after, would determine what they were, would give them all they needed to know. It could have simply been tension, a mere arousal of curiosity and frustration. With Stiles it could have been his heart recovering from the blow Lydia gave, and Derek an outlet for his aggression; but both suspected it was much more, both secretly hoping it was more.

Leading the boy toward his room, Derek tossed the rag from his hands, discarding it on the floor as they entered, and stood with his back to him, ashamed of the sparse surroundings. Candles would have been romantic, it would have at least given the room something more than the gloom and resemblance of a burnt prison cell, but he feared an open flame inside the house.

Stiles, on the other hand, couldn't have cared less what it looked like; he'd been inside the room before, he'd seen the blackened walls, the crumbled ashes of the paper that once lined them, the indistinct posters of the former boy's room that depicted things he'd once been enthused about in another time. This was where he'd once been free, a place he'd been happy, his retreat. Much like his room at home, it held memories for the man, it held a kind of safe ground for him, which Stiles found welcoming. He didn't need candles, he only needed him.

Placing a hand gently upon the wolf's shoulder, his fingers slightly shaking as the anticipation built inside him, shooting adrenaline and hormones racing through his body. He felt the dapple of sweat lining the man's flesh, felt the heat radiate off him. With each deep breath, he felt Derek's muscles stretch and groan, the tightness in them, the decades of stress held within. Slowly he moved toward him, letting his hand slide over his arm, around to his bare chest, followed by the other, which snaked around his waist, holding himself to him.

One of Derek's large hands rest upon his smaller one, fingers lacing gradually as they stood there, and Stiles pressed a kiss on his back, assuring him this was alright. He was ready, they were ready, as ready as they'd ever be. It didn't have to be heavy and steeped in passion, it could be soft, it should be, gentle, tender, that was how he wanted it.

Still unable to shake his uncertainty, Derek allowed Stiles to lead him over to the bed, sitting them both down as he hung his head, eyes shut apprehensively. Slender finders brushing against bristles of unshaved scruff, the boy turned the wolf's head toward him, leading him into a kiss, which lingered with a breath between them, whispering, "It's okay."

Gripping the boy's thigh, running his fingertips over the pulse running along the inside, just under the seam of his jeans. It was there he felt the growing erection of his lover, inching toward his hand, which cupped itself in place, following the steady pound of his heart.

Nipping lightly at Stiles' ear, Derek felt his passions rise, his own erection causing him to shift his position, shuffling himself without a touch, as he leaned more into the boy. Laying a strong kiss upon his jugular, letting his lips linger over the thumping rush of blood that coursed through the human's body, he growled, low and deep, almost purring.

The sound enticed the boy more, feeling his hand graze over the crotch of the Alpha's jeans, fumbling his fingers lightly for the buckle of his belt. Stealing his hand from its place on Stiles' thigh, Derek took hold of his wrist, gently, leading it slowly up along the zipper, toward his belt, and held it there a moment before replacing it once more in his lap.

Freeing his lover's manhood in just a few, well made motions, he let his fingers graze the silky flesh of his head, feeling it twitch against his hand, before gripping it loosely. Again, his own member grew, feeling Derek's hand slide over it, less than an inch of fabric teasing the dulled sensation of his touch. A deep sigh escaped him as the wolf tightened his grip ever so slightly, as his hand slid up his shaft then fell.

Pulling away from the boy's neck and moving suddenly away from his hand, Derek stood, leaned over above him, encouraging him to lay down. But as Stiles began lowering himself, the wolf's fingers inched under his shirt, gripping it as he fell, and lifted it over his head with minimal effort.

The two fell back then, the man atop of him, kissing him deeply, his hot breath heating their lips as it escaped in a huff, like steam, from his nose. Their hands explored each others chests: Derek letting his fingers wrap around Stiles' side and hold his panting form in place, while the boy felt his thumbs pass over the wolf's erect nipples, hearing him give a yearning groan at the way it tormented him. Wrapping his arms around the man, Stiles held him close, forcing his body to press against his, until he felt the distinct brush of his head against his stomach.

Moaning softly, he stole a hand from Derek's chest, letting the other slide over the ripples of his abdomen, and began unbuttoning his own jeans. With a buck of his hips, the wolf ground himself against the boy, inadvertently pushing his hand away, but swiftly relented. He calmed himself, allowing the boy to continue, until he heard the button pop from its place, and the zipper give as a few of the teeth broke from each other.

Derek lifted himself from off the boy, letting his firm hands glide down his sides, which caused the his back to arch as he writhed and fought against the slight tickle it gave him. Yearning, Stiles' eyes looked into the lacquer of the wolf's dim, green-tinted orbs, barely lit in the dimming light cast through the window from the setting sun. He let his hips rise and fall as the Alpha slowly stripped the clothing from him, pushing his jeans and boxers together to rest upon his ankles, cuffed by the sneakers still on his feet.

Lowering himself to his knees, their eyes never leaving the boy's, Derek tenderly slid each shoe from Stiles' feet, removing every stitch of clothing, and reveled for a moment in the naked form before him. He was lean, a misapprehend, shapely body, toned but not to the same definition his own was. An athlete, Stiles had managed to hide himself from everyone else, the true image of him that he allowed others to assume, was that of a weakling, frail, but he was far from it.

Admiring how delicate he still was, Derek smiled, soft and understated, which caused the boy to blush. "What?" he asked, almost coyly.

The wolf did not reply, instead, he climbed slowly on top of the boy, letting his lips rest upon the slight definition of muscle on his stomach. Trailing a line of kisses gradually from his navel to chin, Derek brought his head up and swung his lips to crash onto Stiles', feeling the boy's body deflate and melt slightly into the bed. Assuring him with his kiss that nothing was wrong, he appreciated the boy more for his modesty, sharing the bank of reservations they both kept hidden from others.

It was all that either of them never said aloud, the things no one else could understand, that they shared. The pain they knew of losing family, of being misjudged and assumed, of being outcast despite the deep seeded desire to be accepted. They knew each other, related in a deeper way than anyone had ever cared to venture with either of them, and had unexpectedly found their soul mates.

This was what Stiles yearned to know for sure, to feel without doubt or hesitation, to define for once in a way he could express to someone other than the man who's body pressed into him. While Derek -the broken wolf, full of guilt and remorse- longed for the way the boy knew him, how he could say all the words he couldn't, to keep him, forever, to cling to what they had and never let it slip through his fingers.

The trust that had grown between them had frightened him at first, driven him away; the trepidation of past experience too strong for him to accept. But somehow the boy had broken down his defenses, he had wormed his way into his heart, into his soul. What they were was clear to him, but seeing as he had many years on the teen, he took his time, played his patience in the name of love, and allowed him to define it how he wished, in how ever long a time he required.

It was time, now, here, and they both readily entered this, looking forward to the end, but the experience itself just as much. Attentive to his lover, the wolf had gripped him firmly and had been pleasing him. Leaned onto his side, he sighed softly into his kisses as the boy writhed with pleasure, moaning deep inside his chest, at tones he rarely employed. But stopped short, saving the boy from release, allowing him to savor it, to harbor until the right moment.

He let the boy push his jeans away, feeling his shaking hands glide over the mound of his backside, through the tufts of hair along his thighs, then run his fingertips their way back up along his spine. Their eyes met for a moment, Derek inspecting the boy's gaze, judging how prepared they were for this, while Stiles expression assured the man he was ready, a hint of elation lingering in his auburn pools.

Shaking his clothing from him, Derek sat back on his heels, hooking his hands to the crook of Stiles' knees, and brought the boy closer to him, sliding him through the mangled sheets, to rest perfectly beneath him. "Ready?"

The boy nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving the Alpha's features as the man reached for lubrication, and watched as he hung his head, applying it to himself. There was apprehension there, which Stiles quelled with a gentle hand, running it slowly over Derek's forearm, his head cocked to the side sweetly, assuring him there was nothing wrong in this. They were ready, he was old enough to give consent, and after this, there would be no need for guilt or fear, it would be easy. All the had to do was get past this first time.

Leaving a dab on the tips of his fingers, Derek reached his hand toward Stiles, carefully pressing them against him, before applying pressure and letting them verge inside him. The boy shook, closing his eyes to the sensation, finally breaking the stare he had locked on his lover's face. He let himself find the pleasure in it, moving past the discomfort, and gradually relaxed into Derek's touch.

Removing his fingers slowly, the wolf leaned forward, pressing his hand to his surgation, guiding it downward, leading it toward the human's willing hole. Parting his cheeks carefully, he inched himself into his lover, rather than plunge deep inside him. The tension built swiftly inside him causing his body to tremble, his eyes to glow fire red, and mouth to fall agape. Pressing on, containing the wild beast within, Derek continued to enter Stiles slowly, savoring the sensation; sparing the boy from excruciating pain.

Eyes winced shut with discomfort, Stiles forced them open, forced himself to take the length, to feel every inch, to find the pleasure amidst the sting and ache. Feeling himself stretch to take his lover in, he stole a sharp breath, letting it out, loud and long, allowing it to form into the softest moan.

Reaching the hilt, Derek held himself still a moment, hesitating, waiting for the boy's reaction. His nails dig into his shoulders, he felt them give, releasing slowly, consenting him to proceed. Hips swaying ever more back, he took his time, allowed Stiles to concede to his passage.

Gradually his gesticulations increased, his hips bucking more with each thrust, the pace growing. Moans of discomfort eventually turned to those of contentment, urging on each plunge causing a louder and more gratified response. Until the point Stiles had placed his hands upon Derek's posterior, guiding him deeper, harder against him.

They grunted and moaned in unison, the euphoria erupting between them, the sensations pure ecstasy. Stiles had moved his hand to pleasure himself as the other adhered to the nape of Derek's neck, as he immersed himself in his swain, feeling his resolve snap and buckle under his desires.

Once again, the boy had clenched his eyes shut tight against the fever of bliss, feeling his loins ache. Winding his arm around Derek's shoulders, he held him close, feeling his body quiver just before the explosion took him, forcing his head to toss back in a cry of zeal.

His cry pierced the very fabric holding the Alpha together, from tearing the boy to shreds with his fervor. Groaning in agony as he attempted in vain to remain placid, his motions tender and loving, he could no longer resist. Throwing himself off the boy, he stood back on his knees over him, taking hold of his hips, and drove into him hard, growling vociferously.

The boy whimpered, moaning as the pleasures would not cease, feeling his body grow limp and weary with excursion. His tired eyes, heavy with the weight of his orgasm, fluttered and faltered, before finding his beloved's, their gazes locking in the most profound union they had yet to share. Feeling this, the way it tugged at his heart and made it race, engorged with emotion, Derek felt himself grow close. The ever familiar pulse, then with each he spilled inside the boy.

Head fallen and back bowed a moment, he thrust himself to the limit, pitching himself back with an mammoth howl. The sound shook the crumbling rafters and dank wood of the charred ruins, echoing throughout the surrounding forest. It lingered in the air, reverberated within the boy's racing heart, and sent shivers down his scorching spine.

Feeling his lover sway, his body wavering as his exerted strength was finally vanquished, and left a steady hand against the man's chest. Derek panted heavily, almost stealing the oxygen from the room as he hunched forward, nearly falling on top of the diminutive human. He collapsed, laying beside Stiles, his legs stretching out slowly, face buried in his neck, and arm draped across his chest. Breathing in unison, they laid there, reveling in the experience, engulfed in emotion and revelry.

Stiles let his fingertips drift over Derek's back, as his arm laid pinned under him. Taking in his lover's scent, the Alpha purred, knowing in that moment he had found his mate.

As fearful as he had been, traumatized by Kate's betrayal years ago, he had languished those feelings long before he had ever first kissed the human residing within his embrace. Had he ever questioned Stiles, he would have never risked such a thing, to trust him, but the boy had begged, and quite honestly -despite their former feud- for him to let him in, to place his life in his hands. Without even the slightest inkling of deception, the boy had proven himself, saving Derek from a sure and violent death. In turn, he had repaid him by giving him his heart, awaiting the right moment before making his feelings known, and rescued the boy from the heartbreak Lydia had cast over him.

This was how Derek loved Stiles, wholly and without reservation, content the moment he felt their lips meet, and now, as they lay in their coital rapture. And Stiles, he allowed it to dawn on him gradually, ruling over each limit they tested each time they met, stealing moments to explore the boundaries of this uncultivated territory. Finally, with tenacious affirmation, he could finally admit to himself that he was in love with the wolf steadily falling asleep atop him.

His eyes moved to examine Derek's profile, watching the stubble of his cheek flinch as he clenched his jaw, likely dreaming, and he imagined the man pawing and whimpering like a dog locked in a dream. The image caused a smirk to thin his lips, dimpling his cheek as he surrendered to the fog swiftly moving across his brain.

Craning his neck once more as he felt Derek's lips pucker against his chest, a dogged grin pulled at either corner of his mouth, before letting his expression and head fall, sinking into the pillow beneath his head. A soft breath escaped him as he whispered to his lover, his boyfriend, a compassionate, "I love you," feeling the sleep finally grip him, stealing him into a peaceful dream.


	2. I Hit the Ground

Thumping, horrible and loud, a throng beating in his ears. Was it his heart or someone else's? He could taste blood, could barely see around him as his vision blurred into a tunnel before him, and his limbs felt like lead. What was he running form? Who was after him? It didn't matter, all that did was that he get away, he free himself from the terror gripping him.

Racing forth and stumbling hard onto the ground, nose breaking from the sudden force of the forest floor coming up at him, he laid there, riddled with pain. Struggling, he rolled himself over, looking up in terror at a blackness hovering over him. He shrieked, panicked, unable to voice anything but a shrill scream, until his own face came into view.

He picked himself up, lifted his figure off the ground, and began carrying him. But he wasn't himself anymore, not as he lay limp in his own arms; he was smaller, thinner, more delicate… human.

Where were they going? Were they safe? Then a loud noise came from behind them, they toppled to the ground, and he rolled a few feet through the twigs and crumbling leaves. Dazed, he looked back at his own body, laying there, eyes open but lifeless, a pool of blood collecting beneath him. What was happening? Who was he if not himself?

Everything went black, a strike to the back of his head stealing from him seconds, minutes, maybe even hours. Waking in the dirt, leaves stuck to the dried blood smeared across his face, he sat himself up, looking around for any sign of life, but there was none. No sounds, not even insects, just silence; and he stood, seeing a figure hanging from a tree before him.

It was small, maybe a wolf, maybe something else. As he grew closer he saw the torso, arms stretched toward the sky, hands still clinging to the rope bound around them and strung high above. His heart stopped, feet slowed, and soul shattered at the sight of it. A wolf, a once powerful and tormented wolf, misunderstood and hunted, sometimes scared, but very loved. It was himself and he wasn't anymore, he was someone else, the who very clear to him now.

His knees shook and legs collapsed beneath him, sending him to the ground once more. Everything in him shook, his eyes welled and watered as his grief overtook him, leaving him alone with nothing but woe. What was this, some kind of foreshadowing? A sick sort of premonition?

Hands shaking and gut wrenching, he staggered to his feet and walked toward his torso, his hand slowly extending as he felt his heart breaking. A soft whimper escaped him as he felt the blood trickle down his fingers and into the sleeve of his jacket. This was what it felt like to lose your mate, a pain so much deeper than losing anyone; a void was left so much deeper and cavernous than anything he'd felt before. It felt like dying, only alone, so very alone and unable to breathe.

"_Derek!"_ came a voice, distant and alarming, calling his name, _his _name, not the one who stood there looking on… looking on nothing. He stood alone in the forest, nothing left but puddles of drying blood, glistening in the moonlight. Searching for the voice he turned sharply, then again, lost in the darkness as it engulfed him.

"Derek!" His eyes shot open as he laid there, a thin layer of sweat covering him, chilling his already cold blood to the core. It took him a moment for everything to come into focus, but as he finally took a breath, Stiles' image came into view, concern written in the lines across his brow and the worry sunk so deep into his sleepy eyes.

"You were having a nightmare," the boy urged, brushing his hand over the Alpha's temple, wiping away beads of sweat.

Unsure how real it all was yet, how sure he was in his own body, the both of them safe, he sat up slowly, hands shaking as one took hold of Stiles'. Their eyes met, both sharing their own kind of concern, until the wolf finally breathed a heavy sigh. "I died," he whispered, "hunters caught me and I was strung up, dead. But I wasn't me, I was you…"

"You were me? Like… I was strung up and the hun-"

"No. I… you ran, I tried to save you, but they caught me and-"

"Derek, it was just a nightmare." The way the boy's voice shook as he spoke was all but reassuring, but he tried, either to stop his lover from going on any further, or to simply stop the images from forming in his mind.

Lanky, human arms draped around his neck, holding the wolf close, their hearts beating against one another, and for a moment, Derek felt calm. His hand slid along the boy's arm, feeling the warmth from where he'd slept on his side, their bodies folded over one another as they'd slumbered. It was only a dream, nothing more than a dream, yet he could not shake the way it had felt.

His fear, his loneliness, the way his heart had broken. Clinging to that, unable to escape its clutches, the emotion ran rampant inside him, tearing at his soul. He never wanted to leave Stiles and he never wanted to be without him, he couldn't live with that part of him missing, nor could he imagine causing that pain.

Yet an ache began to form within his chest, one very unfamiliar but swiftly growing. His heart beat hard and fast, racing then skipping a beat, pounding furiously, as if it were going into arrest. Thrusting himself back, away from the boy's grip, he clung to his chest, groaning in agony.

Through the pain he looked over to his lover, watching the boy falter and sway, dizzy, feeling his own attack. Fear gripped him, knowing the human would not survive this, knowing then what it was as he watched him, like an instinct long ago engrained in him. He'd heard stories, been told of two wolves bound by a utterly profound love; humans called them soul mates, but werewolves called it bonding. It was powerful and unbreakable, but something only a wolf could withstand.

"Stiles!" Derek thrust himself at the boy, fighting through his own distress, and pinned him to the bed. "Let me turn you!" he urged, desperately, "Let me give you the bite! If you don't, you'll die. Please!"

Body shaking uncontrollably, barely able to move of his own fruition, the boy nodded. Feeling his heart break at this, Derek let his fangs extend, leaning forward slowly as Stiles laid under him, dying. He felt another hard pound before sinking his teeth into the boy's chest, then came a scream, a shout of pain, which drove the tears streaming from his eyes.

It shouldn't have been like this, he should have been given more of a chance, the choice of his own free will, not a decision made while dying. But what was done was done, and as Derek pulled away slowly, he felt his heartbeat slow, saw the boy lay there, still. Remaining like that for minutes, the wolf sighed, watching as the bite began to slowly heal. It would be a day before it disappeared completely, but it had already done its job.

Within moments he felt the connection take hold, their hearts beating in unison, their minds linking clearer than he'd ever felt from any other wolf. Derek closed his eyes and listened to the strange calm of Stiles' thoughts, before they woke again, racing furious and endless. With a deep breath he calmed them, placed a weight upon them with his own thoughts to keep them from racing.

"_You're safe,"_ they whispered to him, _"It's okay."_

Understanding, the boy looked up at him, stunned, taken aback by every emotion surging through his body. It was calm, steady, and all encompassing. Sitting himself up slightly, Stiles let his questions ramble through his mind, watching as Derek merely smiled softly back at him.

"_I'm sorry it had to be like this. I couldn't lose you. Not like this."_

"_Like what?"_

"_A bond. Our hearts are one."_

"How poetic. That's not mushy or messed up at all. What does that even mean, one? Does it-"

"_Use your thoughts, Stiles. Feel the answers. You know what's happening, you've read about it. Just focus, calm down, control your thoughts."_

They looked at one another a moment, studying each others eyes, Stiles searching Derek's for answers, until finally opening himself up for the flood to spill through. Then came images and endless voices, all trailing into each other, rushing like water into his mind. The made him dizzy at first, confused, bombarded by all of it, until finally he learned how to sort them all, to see them all at once and one at a time, all simultaneous and fluid.

His eyes had fallen to the bed, focusing on all he felt, all he saw though his thoughts, until calm hit him once more. Allowing his eyes to rise and meet the Alpha's, an uneasy smile struck his lips, curling them at either end, and he was no longer scared.

Nodding, Derek spoke once more to him, already familiar with this form of communication, only now it was deeper, more vivid, a sort of clarity he'd never shared with another. _"You can feel everything I feel, see what I've seen…"_

"_Your family. Laura…"_

"_Your mother. You have her eyes."_

"No. I can't-"

"Stiles, it's alright. I can guide you through this."

They sat a moment longer in silence, sharing memories, sensations, and love. To feel the love the other shared, to know the height of what was there, and how unfaltering it was, was liberating. There was no need to say a word, they all just flowed like thoughts through each other, seamless and true. It was the most terrifying yet fulfilling feeling either of them had felt before, and like everything else, they explored it together.

"_This means I'll never leave you. Wherever you are, no matter what happens, I'll know if you're in danger, if you're hurt, or if you're wounded."_

"_You'll know when I'm thinking about you, too?"_

"_Always," _Derek teased, smirking, _"And you'll know my thoughts."_

"_What if one of us gets hurt?"_

"_Then the other feels it. We'll bleed if it's great enough… We'll even die-"_

"_Together?"_

Reluctantly the Alpha nodded, knowing that his dream had forced the bond much sooner than he would have liked, if he had wanted it at all. It had stolen the boy's will, which Stiles felt the remorse trailing through his lover. Assuring him with a kiss, the boy smiled, too lost in the feeling to ever want to fight it, to ever wish for anything else.

It would take some getting used to, especially when being apart for hours or days a time had tortured him enough as it was. His thoughts would always travel to Derek, haunting him through every waking moment they hadn't been together. But those thoughts had been different, they'd been racing, curious, worried, and confused. He'd wondered what they were, what they were doing, how long it would be until he saw him, but now he almost knew that wouldn't plague him, at least not nearly as much.

Stiles wondered how they would function throughout their days, the connection ever present, distracting them, but Derek assured him it wouldn't, that they would quiet it. They laid there for nearly an hour passing thoughts between each other, learning all the secret things they couldn't share before, exploring memories, hopes, and fears.

To say the experience was anything but transcendental would be a lie. They understood so much of the other before all this, only now there was nothing left for assumption or misinterpretation. It left Derek feeling ashamed at moments, and Stiles vulnerable, but they shared that too, never once parting their eyes as they communicated everything with one another. There was nothing left but peace between them, the echoes of worry and doubt stricken from their minds completely.

After some time, Stiles rose, knowing he should leave. His father was likely home, worrying where his son was. He saw the light spill in through the window, unsure which sun it was, rising or falling, only he already knew.

"It's okay," Derek mused softly as he rolled himself off the boy.

Sitting up with a soft glance over his shoulder at the wolf, Stiles smiled, though there was a kind of sorrow in it. He didn't want to leave yet, didn't want to take himself from his lover's arms, but he had to.

Rising from the bed, he began to dress himself, feeling the heat from Derek's thoughts at the back of his mind. The way he looked at him, the way he saw his figure, once so frail, now almost beautiful, at least in his lover's eyes. It left him with a slight crimson flush upon his pale cheeks, causing his pulse to quicken slightly.

Feeling this, his own heart racing faster, Derek slid himself across the bed, hanging over the side to each for the boy's hand. His slender fingers were laced within the thick paw of his lover, pulled slightly back toward him, and he smiled.

"Don't tell me you miss me already," he teased.

"I always do."

"I'll be back again."

"I know you will."

Their eyes lingered yet again, lost within each others gaze. Stealing an awkward step within his half lifted jeans, Stiles leaned toward Derek, who craned his neck toward the boy, kissing him a tender goodbye.

Clothed and prepared for the walk home, Stiles let himself out of the Hale house alone, wandering through the woods with the ever present weight of Derek's thoughts. They whispered to one another, assured the other that they were there, that they would see each other again soon.

The boy knew he would have to explain things to his father, finally tell him what had happened to him, what he'd been doing all this time. But as he played over every scenario, his Alpha assured him the time would come, that there was no need to rush or worry, that he'd be there if he needed him to be, and so Stiles begged him, insisting that he could not do it alone.

They would choose a day, find a time before the full moon, which gave them a luxury of weeks. He had the time now to learn all he could of his new body, the abilities he'd seen Scott discover, they were his now too. There was no rush though, and there was solace in that.

He reached his house and felt his senses flare, a whiff of his mother walking past him as he entered the house, nearly flooring him. Quickly Derek assured him that it was alright, that scents lingered long after people died, and that his own family remained ever present still to this day.

"_I can smell them in the ashes and hear their voices in the walls. They're not ghosts, but something stays, something you feel more when you're a wolf, things humans can't sense."_

It was all but comforting, painful instead, but it was what Derek lived with, an entire family scattered beneath his feet; Stiles could live with the memory of his mother, he had been for a long time now. And so he lead himself to his room, sitting down at the edge of his bed, and waited for his father to enter.

"Where have you been?" the man demanded, only to see the far-off look in his son's eyes. "You alright?" his voice more gentle, he entered the room, sitting carefully next to the boy, his arm draped around him.

"What if… What if there was something I needed to tell you that I couldn't right now?"

"You will, eventually… Stiles, is there something you need to tell me?"

Looking into his father's eyes, the boy nearly cried, but with his lover's help he remained strong, kept his voice from shaking. "Not yet. But I will."

It was an uneasy thing hearing his son so quiet, seeing him so still, though he felt his body tremble slightly in his embrace. Slipping his arm from around the boy, Sheriff Stilinski nodded to his son, "Then tell me when you're ready. Just… don't take too long. You have me curious now."

"Don't you mean concerned?"

"Yeah, but I didn't wanna come off too overbearing."

"It's alright," he choked, "I don't mind it when you are."

The two quickly shared a hug, holding each other tighter than they had in quite a while. Stiles would have liked to have said it hadn't been since his mother had died, but he remembered the night of the last lacrosse match, the night Gerard had beaten him. This wasn't much different though, not for Stiles; his father hadn't lost him, but he could.

As he watched his dad leave, Stiles let Derek's thoughts back through, surprised how easily it had been to silence them for the moment he'd needed alone. They were lingering as he laid himself down in the dark to sleep, hoping he could sleep for days and not worry about the homework he still had yet to do.

"_If I die, you die too, right?"_

"_But that's if anything happens to you, and I won't let it."_

"_That means if you die, I die… Be careful, Derek. I can't leave my dad alone, I can't be another ghost like my mom is."_

There was silence but Stiles could feel Derek's guilt, his reluctance to agree to flee from a fight or keep himself from doing what was in his nature to do.

"_Promise."_

Again silence.

Stiles laid there, doing his best to fight his tears, before hearing the leaves outside his window rustle. Opening an eye to watch as fingers curled around the sill and slowly lifted the pane, he sighed softly as his lover crawled in quietly, his red eyes glowing in the dim light coming from the street lights.

Without a word, Derek climbed into the bed beside the body, leaving his feet hung over the side of the bed, and covered them with the sheets and large blanket. Their eyes fixed on each others, and for a moment there was only that moment. The sensation of their souls so close to one another, heats forever beating in unison, yet his worries were not quelled.

"_Promise," _he begged once more, and Derek slowly nodded.

He would have to trust in his Betas, would have to rely on others, as he should have been doing from the beginning. It was what would have kept Boyd and Erica with him, would have kept them safe. Hoping that they were ready, that Scott would join their rally, he agreed to keep himself safe, to protect he and Stiles both, to keep them alive.

"_Sleep,"_ he urged. _"We'll talk to your dad in the morning."_

Both rested their eyes after a long gaze at one another, then slipped peacefully to sleep. Sharing each others dreams, they were safe, together, and locked in embrace. Any nightmare that crept up on the other was diverted, their tranquility preserved by the other, until the moment came for them to wake.

Feeling his lover stir beside him, Derek opened a single eye to peer at him, smirking. "How does your chest feel?"

For a moment, Stiles looked at him confused, groggy and still half asleep. He looked down at his chest, fumbling to lift the shirt from its tangle in the covers, and looked at where Derek had bitten him. "Better," he hummed, surprised it had already healed. Letting his head fall back, he groaned as he felt the bed jostle and the warm body beside him move away.

Quietly, Derek pulled himself to his feet, stretching the sleep from his body. Moving toward the door, he listened to the man in the kitchen below them, rustling around, cooking breakfast.

Knowing the Alpha's thoughts, Stiles rose, looking at him nervously. "Today? We have to tell him now?"

"When else? We're both here." Looking over to the boy, his expression fell, sighing. "It'll be okay."

"He doesn't even know we're dating!"

"Well we're more than dating now. Wouldn't you say?"

"Don't get smart with- Hey, was that-"

But Derek stifled him from making his remark. Though he'd been rather pleased to see he was rubbing off in even the slightest way on his lover, Stiles complied, ceasing his words as his mouth remained parted as he breathed.

The wolf listened at the door, could hear the man mumbling below. Listening carefully, Stiles heard it too, until his ears rang with the piercing call from his father as it traveled through the house.

"STILES! BREAKFAST!"

His eyes squint shut, Stiles fingered his ears, trying to make the ringing stop.

"It'll go away. Come on, time to do this."

Stiles watched as Derek climbed back out the window, wondering why he didn't just walk down with him.

"_It's better this way. Bad enough I turned you without him knowing, let alone adding insult to injury."_

"_Right, like an older man sleep under his roof in the arms of his under age son? Good point. I'll just tell him I invited you over."_

Keeping his thoughts ever present in the boy's thoughts, Derek walked around to the front, waiting outside for the right moment. He felt for Stiles' cue, to know when he should knock to be let in, all the while lulling the boy's fears, assuring him it would all work out from here.

Walking into the kitchen to see his father waiting for him, coffee cup in one hand, newspaper in the other, Stiles felt his nerves spike once more, and looked off toward the door. There came a knock and suddenly Stiles chimed, "I'll get it!" and rushed off to answer the door.

Lowering the paper, Sheriff Stilinski watched his son curiously, sensing in his tone something was off, like only a father -who was also an officer of the law- could detect. "You expecting somebody?" he called with no reply.

Stiles had heard him, there was no way he couldn't, not anymore. Instead, he ignored his dad for the time being, opening the door in a fluster, locking eyes with the Alpha, wondering what their plan would be.

"_Improvise? That's your game plan?"_

"_Stiles."_

"_Seriously though, you think you can handle my dad? Because you don't know him like I do. He'll see right through-"_

"_Stiles. Calm down. When your thoughts race like this it makes me dizzy."_

"_Sorry."_

Sending more soothing, reassuring thoughts to the boy, Derek walked in, prepared to be met with a demanding or even condemning look.

And there it was, like a glare of death, and Stiles huffed as he stood behind his lover, knowing that look all too well. "I invited him, dad, calm down."

"Invited _him_? Why?"

Derek stood silently, awaiting a proper invitation from the man to sit at his table. Stiles though, took up his own seat, sliding in beside his father, where he always sat, and had before him his plate.

"Well I didn't make enough for all of us," the man grumbled.

"That's fine, he can have some of-"

"I didn't come for breakfast. But thank you."

"_Polite, good touch. Though you're aware he wasn't offering."_

"_Stiles."_

"_Right. Got it."_

Sheriff Stilinski looked up from his paper once more at the man standing before his kitchen table, then glanced down at the seat across from him. Taking the offer, Derek sat, all the while the man watched him carefully.

Slipping his hand carefully, as stealthily as he could under the table, Stiles let it dangle from his lap, urging his feelings onto his lover, begging for his hand.

Derek refused, knowing they could do this without that, at least for now. He'd hold his hand when he'd really need it, there was nothing to be worried about. Instead, he looked the boy's father in the eyes, never faltering in his gaze, and awaited the man's acknowledgement, which came with a huff.

"There something you wanted to talk about, Hale?"

"Yes, sir, in fact there is. But I'd like to ask that you set your paper aside, for sake of your son. This concerns him too."

Complying challengingly, the Sheriff folded the paper and set it down on the table beside him, his hand resting in a fist atop it. "Is that better? So what's this about?"

The wolf's lips parted a moment as he searched for the words to use. There was no subtle way to divulge the information to him, so he found it best to simply come out and say it. "Stiles and I have been seeing each other for a few months now-"

"A few? Between you and Scott, I barely get to see my son anymore, except in the morning, if I'm lucky."

"I didn't mean in that way."

A silence fell between them for a moment, creating an almost unbearable tension in the room, which Stiles felt chill him to the bone. Reaching out under the table, he took hold of Derek's hand, which sat upon his lap, and felt the Alpha give it a tender squeeze.

"_It's alright,"_ he urged him, and not once let his sights falter from the boy's father. "I'm aware I'm much older than your son-"

"I'd say. And what makes you think I won't take you in right now and locking you up?"

"On what grounds?"

"On the grounds that you've just confessed to an officer of the law that-"

"That I love your son?"

Tingles ran throughout Stiles' body at the sound of the words. Though he'd felt it the whole time, known the emotion was there between them, they had never said the words aloud to one another, not when the other could hear. His fingers laced in Derek's as he watched the wolf lock in a dead stare with his father.

"We didn't want to tell anyone until we knew what this was, until we were sure-"

"And what are you sure of now?"

"That it isn't mere infatuation. We share a connection-"

"You share a connection with a seventeen year old boy? I'd like to know what kind of-"

"We understand each other, sir, better than anyone either of us know. I know your pain, Sheriff, and I respect your objections and concerns, but I can't help-"

"What do you know about my- Pain? What are you-"

"DAD!" Finally the tension had grown too great for the boy to take. Not knowing when it had happened or how, Stiles had sprung from his seat and pounded his fists on the table that sat between the three of them. He stood, back hunched slightly, breath heavy and panting, hearing a growl linger about him.

For a moment all he did was stand there, before realizing his father was staring at him with terror in his eyes. Stealing his gaze away, he looked down at his hands, claws bore, hair lining the tops of them, and already wiry fingers elongated. His eyes had been glowing yellow, that was what his father had seen, nothing more. No beast had emerged more than in his hands and in his iris', but it was all the man needed to be shaken to the core.

Slumping himself back down in his seat, looking off blankly, he felt his head grow dizzy, felt his temper fade, leaving behind nothing but anxiety and panic.

Feeling this, Derek looked over to him, only to have his tender sights stolen by the boy's father.

"What did you do to him!?" the man demanded, pounding a fist to the table he now stood over, pointing at his son. "Did you do this!?"

"Sir-"

"Get out."

"Dad!"

"Stiles- Get out!" he demanded once more, pointing Derek toward the door.

Obeying, Derek stood, despite his lover's pleading thoughts, his urgent inner-cry for him to stay. This was best, he assured him all his father needed was time, he needed to digest and accept it before they could tell him anymore.

Half way down the steps of the Stilinski porch, Derek stopped as he felt a rush of fear from Stiles bombard him, forcing his bones to shake. He turned in time to hear the boy cry out and a shot ring through the trees that lined the small, sleepy street they lived on. Like a blow from a cannon, Derek spun and fell to the ground, pain shooting through his arm.

Laying there in agony, he clung to his wound, groaning, struggling to get to his feet. Bearing down on the man, the Sheriff stole a pace down the porch, from which he had blown the wolf clear from. Behind him came the choked voice of agony, pleading with him, begging him to stop, and he did, turning back to look at the doorway, at his son, laying there on the ground.

The force of the gunshot had stolen the floor out from beneath the boy, who now laid on his side, clinging to a wound that did not show but bled, slowly opening a hole in his shoulder. He cried, tears streaming down his face, worried his father would shoot Derek and kill them all, for his death would cause Stiles to die, and along with him, his father's world would completely end.

"Dad! Please!"

"Stiles!?" Rushing to his son's side, the Sheriff fell to his knees, dropping the gun to the ground, and held his boy in his arms, cradling him as if he were still five years old and had fallen off his bike for the first time. "Stiles, what happened? How did-"

"It's okay, dad. It'll heal. Derek- I…"

"It's alright. It's gonna be okay. I'll get you to the hospi-"

"Dad, it's already healing." He laid there in his father's arms, slowly removing the hand from his shoulder, feeling it still scream with pain.

The wound was in fact healing, and the Sheriff looked on in frantic astonishment as his son returned to normal, only the blood staining his shirt remained of the wound he'd made. Sitting up slowly, Stiles looked his father in the eyes, imploring the man try and understand, that he not cry when he explain this all to him.

"I'm a werewolf, dad. Derek's my Alpha, and Scott's an Alpha too."

"Scott? He's-"

"So's Jackson, Isaac, Erica, and Boyd."

Shocked, the Sheriff sat there in disbelief, hearing the list of students he knew all attended classes with his son, who had become his friends seemingly overnight, and suddenly so many things made sense. It was why he'd been at the sight of so many crimes, why they all always seemed to be involved somehow, though he'd never wanted to accuse or suspect his own son. This was why so many pieces had never quite fit or why his son had been so concerned with his work, always trying to help him; not spending time with him but solving mysteries for his friends.

Derek had gradually gotten up off the ground, rolling his shoulder against the shot that had pierced it, but did not growl or hold contempt toward the man. Instead, he approached the two slowly, standing beside him, ready for whatever retaliation was left in him.

Rather than lash out at the young man, Sheriff Stilinski rose, helping his son to his feet, and hesitated. Barely looking over at Derek as he stood there, prepared for whatever hit he might give, he sighed, more terrified than anything that he'd almost lost his son. "You heal from bullet wounds?"

"We heal from almost anything. But bullet wounds still hurt like they would anyone else. So long as it's a clean shot, we heal within seconds."

"How'd it hit Stiles though? I nearly shot you point blank."

"We're bonded. It's something werewolves do. Our souls connect, out hearts beat as one, and we're joined for life."

"Which also means in death," Stiles interjected, finding his voice again, finally.

The Sheriff looked toward his son, who stood with resolve beside him, nodding. "You chose this?"

"I did."

"_Or you would have died."_

"_He doesn't need to know that. I would have chosen it anyway."_

"_You would have?"_

"_Probably, eventually… I think- Who cares?"_

"Look, dad, there's no taking it back. We… Like Derek said, we're in love. If he dies, I die too, but we're gonna look out for one another, we're not gonna let anything happen to each other, and we've got a whole pack of werewolves-"

"Half a pack as of right now-"

"A pack of werewolves," Stiles growled indignantly, "who will all look out for us and have always looked out for us, because we're all family."

His father shook his head and let the worry spill from him in tears, which streamed down his face and sullied his uniform. "I just couldn't handle anything happening to you," he urged, "After your mother-"

"I know, Dad, I know. I lost her too, and Derek's lost his whole family. He won't lose me, and he won't let you lose me either. It's why we're bonded, because he couldn't live without me. But he knows how much you need me-"

"Stiles-"

"You know you do. But it'll be-"

The sound of the Sheriff's radio interrupted their conversation, the static hitting both wolves ears, and Derek nodded to the officer to take the call. The two listened as Stiles' father apologized for the shot he'd fired, knowing one of the neighbors had called and complained. Derek hung his head in shame for a moment, but Stiles wouldn't let him shut his thoughts from him, no matter how guilty he felt for how everything had gone.

"_It was better than the dentist," _he assured him, knowing his humor was often lost on the wolf.

But Derek cracked a small smirk, nodding slightly. _"Hopefully it'll get easier for him."_

"_I'm sure it will."_

They had stopped listening in on the Sheriff's call, but quickly he rejoined them on the porch, shimmying past them as he hurried to put on the rest of his attire. "I have to go," he explained, "There was a call about an animal attack out on rout five." Turning quickly to his son, he pointed an accusatory finger at him, "We'll talk about _this_ later."

But Derek could not ignore the suspicious nature of the call, interjecting before the man had time to even finish putting on his jacket. "Animal attack?"

"One of yours?" The man tried not to charge him with any blame, but was still trying to understand all of what he'd just learned.

"Another pack, maybe."

"_Go with him,"_ Stiles urged, and nodded for his lover to go and save the day. He had homework to do and they had a bond that would keep him informed, let alone, with Derek there, Stiles knew his dad would be safe.

"Wanna come take a look? It would be kinda hard to explain to everyone why a civilian's there."

"Just make up some excuse. I have a record, remember? I'll just fall back and sniff around while you do your police work. That and I can hear things pretty well, you'd be surprised."

"I don't doubt that. Alright, get in. You're riding in back."

Watching Derek almost cringe at the thought of being in the back of another police car, Stiles smirked and recalled the first time he'd seen him in one, climbing in to argue with him through the gate. He could feel the flush of warmth the memory gave his lover, and chuckled as he saw the image from the wolf of his own lips appear. Even then he'd looked at the boy differently, attracted to him; it was strangely comforting.

What warmed him more was watching his men drive off together to work on a crime with one another, side by side. His dad would come around, Derek was right, it would just take time, but already he sensed a kind of acceptance forming. Homework was going to be difficult to focus on, especially while trying to listen in on what was happening across town, let alone the aderol that was working its way out of his system rather painfully, but he'd manage. A whole new world lay ahead of him, and rather than explore it, he had to remain a teenager for the day, had to pretend to be normal, if for no other reason than to get by.


End file.
